


I have lost a part of myself

by Kangoo



Series: May his reign be of moderate lenght [2]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Introspection, Take a moment to realize how much shit wouldn't have happened, the title is way more dramatic than the story itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangoo/pseuds/Kangoo
Summary: It's not treason, per say. It's more like... common sense.(No, Marwyn isn't convinced either)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title still from O Thanagor.
> 
> @blizzard please more love for the captains

Captain Hallewell was not a day-drinker, and even less so when alone. He saw alcohol as a dangerous distraction at best, and disliked partaking in it without friends to convince him otherwise.

But he had been given a lot of reasons to drink lately, and found himself - without an idea how it had come to this - alone in the main ship’s map room, holding in his hand a half-empty glass of whatever liquor Falric always brings when they follow Arthas. He wasn’t quite sure what it _was_ \- Falric only explained what they used to make it when they all were good on their way to blackout drunk and he had never understood a word of his explanations - but it faintly tasted like sugar and burned just right on the way down, which was all he could ask of any alcohol.

The amber liquid reflected the light of the day coming through the windows like it was molten gold, and he appeared mesmerized by the warm colors, his gaze lost in his glass as he slowly swirled its content. In truth, what overwhelmed his thoughts might have had a similar hue to the liquor, but that was where all similarities stopped; he was not nearly as easy to bear, and far more bitter.

Prince Arthas always seemed to be in his thoughts lately, and few were pleasant.

Oh, Marwyn loved him like a brother and he would die for him - it almost was the case more than once, the last no later than a week prior -, that wasn’t the problem, but his friend had been for him a constant source of rightful worry for as long as he could remember.

It was a gift.

Not only was the prince a bother in any and every way he could, willingly or not, but he also was a _problematic_ one. Marwyn was a man of action, not of doubt or great reflections, and still Arthas kept making him second-guess every choice he ever made concerning him. Which brought him here, drinking alone, wondering if any of the aforementioned choices had been the right one.

At the time, stranded away from home with little chance to ever leave alive, knocking out the prince had seemed the best - and only - option, once that it had become obvious they couldn’t knock some _sense_ into him instead. But now that it was too late to go back to Northrend’s frozen shore, with their foolish friend chained up on a ship sailing away on their king’s orders, Marwyn felt - ashamed, maybe, that he had let it all come to this point, that he had chosen to follow a fellow officer rather than his crown prince, a brother instead of another, that he had fled with them while the demon responsible for the ravage of their kingdom still lived.

If he had to do it again, he wouldn’t change a thing, but the damned feeling of betrayal would still be there, even though he would have committed a bigger treason not following his king’s orders, waiting to see which, between Arthas’ mind and the demon they pursued, would break first.

Still deep in his rather dark thoughts, the soldier reached for a second glass on the table he was sitting next to and held it for the second man who had just entered the room.

Falric Tyndall fell into the chair that faced his with a weary sigh and gladly accepted the offering. He looked as if the glass had both offended him greatly and held all the answers to his many problems, likely wondering whether or not he should knock it down at once. His professionalism must have won in the end, as he simply leaned back in his chair without even a sip of his glass and let his head fall in his free hand like it weighed more than the world itself.

“Not a _word_ ,” He told Marwyn, strained each syllable with obvious frustration. “Nothing but the same stubborn silence as when we sailed.”

“I’m not surprised he’s mad at us, honestly. We scratched his armor a bit when we dragged him off, and he menaced me of exile for far less in the past.”

Falric chuckled weakly,  his hold on the glass loosening from its original clutch with each breath. He sobered quickly, but Marwyn was more than proud of his effect.

“Luc’s still in there, but it’s useless if you ask me. It’s like reasoning with a wall - worse! A wall would have more conversation.”

Way too dignified to chuckled as he had, Marwyn rolled his eyes good-naturedly at the jest.

“You tried anyone else?” He asked, although he knew very well the answer. Falric was just as aware of it as he was, and seemed very unimpressed when he looked at him.

“Muradin is as successful as we are. As for the soldiers, I won’t risk having him charm his way out of chains with these big puppy eyes of his. They seem happy enough to forget about his existence, if that means they’re coming home.” Silence fell as Marwyn nodded in understanding. Then, he noticed a small, almost invisible change in Falric’s expression, and he groaned inwardly, seeing there the sign of the exact question he had tried to avoid - apparently to no avail.

“You should go see him,” Falric spoke lightly, with a poorly hidden glee in saying the last thing Marwyn wanted to hear.

“Or,” He replied with slight desperation, “I could ignore the whole issue like a man and let him brood in peace until we reach Lordaeron.”

“And once we do?”

He shrugged. “I won’t have to talk to him ever again if I’m relieved of my duties - or of my head - for high treason.”

When only quiet answered his sinister reply, he looked up again, and by doing so had no other choice but to bear the full weight of Falric’s deeply unimpressed stare. He knew it to be but a matter of seconds before his best friend took a leaf out of Arthas’ book and used his big blue eyes to convince Marwyn to do his bidding. This time, he groaned aloud in dismay, before draining his glass in one go and standing up.

“Alright, you win. I’m going. Do us both a favor and take a look at those maps while I go talking at our favorite wall: I intend to use them to bargain for our heads, and I need them to be perfect.”

And with that, he strode out of the cabin, loftily ignoring Falric’s laugh."

The deck was bustling with activity despite the burning heat of the high sun. Still, Marwyn had no troubles wading through the crowd of both soldiers and sailors, quiet as a ghost without his armor to announce his every move.

He didn’t dare to look at the sea, stretching on and on to the horizon, knowing well enough the rush of alcohol would not do well with any unexpected bout of seasickness, and slipped into the well-avoided cabin where they had… stored, Arthas.

There, he found the prince, mouth clamped shut as he stared stubbornly at the wall opposite of the bed on which he sat. His eyes carefully avoided Luc Valonforth, quite a feat considering the third and last Captain stood just in front of him.

Said Captain stopped mid-sentence at Marwyn’s arrival and shot him a bright, relieved grin. Arthas did nothing to show he had even notice him, still as if carved from stone, but the slight way his shoulders tensed gave him away.

Luc looked like he was trying very hard not to run out of the cabin, but he failed quite spectacularly. He patted Marwyn on the shoulder on his way out in silent support and, after a last mournful glance Arthas’ way, left and closed the door behind him.

Only once Luc had disappeared did Arthas deign to turn his piercing gaze to the newcomer. The chains at his wrists jingled faintly as he took he more comfortable position on his bed, crossing his legs and letting his bound hands fall between his knees. There was little use to the chains at this point, but letting him roam free seemed like tempting fate to them.

Still, although he gave Marwyn his full attention, he did not talk. It was unnerving, but infinitely better than the mad rants and bouts of rage that had followed his first wakening. None of the friends had been able to recognize their beloved prince in this raving madman then. Now, he was, if far from his usual self, at least somewhat familiar.

“It reminds me when we were teenagers,” Marwyn muttered, amused. “You, pouting, and us running around, trying to bring back your cocky smile.”

A small, nostalgic smile stretched the prince’s lips, but he didn’t reply in any other way. It was quite a surprise, as patience had never been his forte. It was, incidentally, his Captains’, and they were more than used to dealing with his shit.

Marwyn leaned comfortably against the wall right next to the door, crossed his arms over his chest and steadily held the ice-blue gaze. Years of this very same battle of wills had hardened him to Arthas’ uncannily clear eyes.

Time passed without seeing one of them move a muscle. Arthas, gifted with a newfound patience, barely blinked.

Finally, it was Marwyn who broke eye contact, as it had often been the case in the past. He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head with an odd mix of relief and disappointment. Arthas _had_ changed, in many ways, and although he could still see pieces of his old friend under this cold exterior, he knew he was longer the kind-hearted, prideful and foolish paladin he had swore his full allegiance years before.

It didn’t matter. He finally felt like he had made the right choice, which pleasantly settle his mind. He could work with that. Even better: he could make this work.

Quietly, as if to not disturb the heavy silence of the room, the said kindly, “See you later, Arthas.”

The prince spoke just as he lowered his hand on the doorknob, unexpected but not surprising. He stilled.

“It was my duty - _our_ duty - to kill this demon and avenge our home,” He rasped with a voice gravelly with disuse.

Marwyn chuckled bitterly, and didn’t bother looking at him when he replied. “There is no glory in death, my prince, no matter whose.”

He opened the door and stepped outside, letting the sound of the ship washes over him while Arthas mused over his words. He heard a quiet, “I guess there isn’t” behind him when he locked the door.

Just as he was putting the key in his pocket, a soldier stopped in front of him and gasped, like he had run around the whole ship twice in the last minute, “We are in sight of Lordaeron, sir!”.

He nodded and waved him off. Slowly, mindful of not being an obstacle to the sailors who hurried across the deck, he made his way to the side of the ship where he could see Luc and Falric, talking close to each other, almost head to head.

He leaned against the railing next to them and took a deep breath, feeling like he had finally found back his balance as the shore of his homeland appeared on the horizon. He took a moment to think, and then turned to his friends.

“How are we getting him to the castle?” He asked, and then, innocently, “Falric?”

“I am _not_ carrying him again.”

“Worse,” Added Luc with a slightly alarmed look at his friends. “What are we going to say to the king?”

Falric shrugged. “The truth?”

“ Yeah, there’s _no way_ this can go wrong.”

“Shut up. And we can’t lie, either.”

They looked at each other, then at the approaching shores of Lordaeron in silence. Finally, Marwyn spoke again.

“We’re going to die.”

They nodded in grim agreement.


End file.
